


The Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by creationcrusher



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beating, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I love my son, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, jk lets fuck him up, some blood, warning: abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creationcrusher/pseuds/creationcrusher
Summary: Jerry Parker is just having a normal day in 4th grade, when his entire world changes.





	The Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

*RING RING!*

The bell for recess rang, causing children to scramble to pack up their bags, regardless of the fact that the teacher was still talking. Children rushed out of the room, racing to get their favorite swing or the good tire swing. However, in the midst of this stampede, one kid was walking more slowly than the others, his face buried in a book. This kid had shoulder length dark brown hair, big nerdy glasses, a shirt and jacket that were way too big for him, and pants that were only being held up by a belt around the kid’s unhealthily skinny waist. The teacher’s pet, four eyes, bookworm, dork, nerd, dweeb, ect. Jerry Maurice Parker. 

Jerry Parker shuffled his way towards the doors along with the rest of the kids, occasionally getting checked by an elbow or shoved by an overly eager kid. Nonetheless, Jerry kept his nose in his book.

Once Jerry got outside, he went to his usual spot, the little plastic tunnel underneath the slide. No one ever went there. They were too excited about the monkey bars or the tire swings. Jerry laid down in the tunnel, face still buried in his book, and waited for recess to be over.

“Hey there, Jerry. What are you reading?”

Jerry looked up. Mrs. Briggs, his 4th grade teacher had poked her head into his tunnel. He liked Mrs. Briggs. She never got mad at him for doodling in class and even let him read once he had finished his homework. 

Jerry smiled, showing off the gap where his front tooth used to be. 

“It’s called Harriet the Spy! I-it’s about a really cool girl who takes notes on people like a spy!” Jerry’s lisp from his missing tooth came out whenever he said an “S.”

“That’s great Jerry! I’m glad you’re enjoying your book, but could you come with me please? Someone wants to talk to you.” she said, extending her hand to him. Mrs. Briggs smiled at Jerry, but something...didn’t seem right…

Jerry stared at Mrs. Briggs a minute before taking her hand and crawling out of his tunnel. He looked up at her, confused. Someone wanted to talk to him? Who?

Mrs. Briggs walked back into the building with Jerry, still holding his hand. She had a troubled look on her face, but when Jerry looked up at her, she smiled. 

“I-is something wrong?” Jerry asked. He didn’t like seeing Mrs. Briggs like this. 

“We...we just need to talk a-about something.” Her voice was shaking…

Jerry’s eyes opened wide. He was scared. Was his teacher crying? Adults don’t cry...do they? Jerry stared forward as they walked towards the faculty offices.

“Ok, we’re here!” Mrs. Briggs said, opening the door to the principal’s office.

“Hello Jerry. Please take a seat.” Mr. Fischer, the principle, also known as “Mr. Combover” by the students. Mr. Fischer wasn’t the only one in the room however. There was also Mrs. Diver, the school therapist. Unfortunately, Jerry knew her very well. There was also the school nurse, Mrs. Duckett. All three of them shared the same dismal expression. Mr. Fischer was seated behind his desk, hands folded. Jerry’s hands gripped the back of the chair that was seated in front of the principal’s desk, too scared to sit down.

“...What happened?” Jerry asked quietly. 

“Please just… take a seat.” Jerry obeyed, sitting in the chair with his hands gripping the seat on either side. Something was very wrong.

“Jerry… you know your mother has been very sick for a very long time. She’s been dealing with breast cancer for at least three years, and her fight has been exhausting. Jerry, you know how much your mother loved you, right?” Jerry’s stomach dropped.

Loved…?

“What? What happened…?” Jerry asked, voice shaky. He already knew.

“Jerry, your mother passed away this afternoon. She lost her battle with cancer. She’s in a better place.”

Jerry heard sniffling, and whipped his head around to see Mrs. Briggs holding back tears.

“...What...what do you m-mean?” Jerry’s voice shook. Died? His mom couldn’t die. Moms don’t die…

Jerry stared at Mr. Fischer. He didn’t know what to say…

“Jerry, I know this has to be a traumatic experience, and we will be sure to keep you and your family in our thoughts and prayers.” 

“I-I don’t want thoughts and prayers! I-I WANT MY MOM!” Something inside Jerry snapped, as if a rope inside him had broken. 

“BRING HER BACK!” Jerry had started to cry, tears running down his face and his face going red from screaming. 

“I DON’T WANT MY MOM TO BE DEAD! BRING HER BACK!” Jerry had stood up from his chair and was now screaming at Mr. Fischer. 

“Come on honey. I- I’ll bring you home.” Mrs. Briggs was still crying but was trying to pull herself together for her student. 

“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME! I WANT MY MOM!” Jerry’s voice was going hoarse.

 

Hours later

Jerry found himself in his bed, sobbing, clutching his head in his hands. Why would this happen. WHY. Moms don’t die. This is a dream. She’ll come back. She has to come back. Jerry shoved his face into his pillow and screamed, kicking his feet. Maybe if he screamed loud enough his mom would hear him and come back. 

Suddenly, Jerry heard his door creak open. He lifted his face slightly from his pillow. His dad, Richard, stood in the doorway, clearly drunk. Even though his parents didn’t have a very good relationship with each other, his mother’s death had clearly hurt Richard nonetheless. Richard stumbled into Jerry’s room, taking a seat next to Jerry on his bed. He didn’t smell very good… Jerry sat up.

“Jerry...why did this happen…” asked Richard, taking a swig of whatever was in the bottle he was holding. Jerry didn’t have an answer. His dad was an adult. Wasn’t he supposed to know? His mother was one of the nicest people he knew. He didn’t understand how this could happen to her.

“You know this is your fault, right Jerry...?” 

“What?” Jerry took a minute to register what his dad had said, looking up at him.

“It’s YOUR FAULT!” Richard grabbed Jerry by the arm, causing Jerry to shout in fear. 

“IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU, SHE WOULD STILL BE HERE!” Richard, still holding Jerry by the arm. Jerry screamed. 

His dad dragged him to the ground, causing Jerry to get a few rugburns on his back. Jerry hiccuped, staring up at his dad, clearly terrified. What was happening? What did he do?

Richard raised a fist over his head.

He brought it down, landing squarely onto Jerry’s nose.

Hard.

Jerry screamed as his dad pinned him to the ground, thrashing his arms and legs to try and escape. His dad didn’t stop. His fists came down onto Jerry’s face and torso. Again. And again. And again. By this point Jerry’s nose had broken and blood was pouring out of it, getting onto Richard’s fists and being flung onto various surfaces in the room as Richard flailed his arms. The wind had been knocked out of Jerry, making it impossible for him to scream anymore. Jerry’s vision was getting dizzy…

Everything went black

Later that night

Jerry’s eyes opened slowly. He was laying on his bedroom floor and the lights were off. He sat up, dizziness causing him to clutch his head. He whined, slowly standing up, supporting himself on his dresser. He took his hand away from his head. It was...wet. Really wet… 

Jerry went over to his lightswitch and flipped the switch.

He looked down at his hands

They were covered in blood

O...oh…

Jerry felt his head start to spin as he collapsed to his knees. All he could do was stare at his hands as events of the day flooded his brain.

Mom dead. Dad beat him. Broken nose and bleeding head. 

Did he deserve this? What did he do…

Jerry sat on his floor for a while, staring at the small puddle of blood on his floor.

His blood.

His dad.

Why.

Later

Jerry finally managed to pick himself up from the floor. He headed to the bathroom, making sure to tread carefully, as he saw his dad sleeping on the couch in the living room, a bottle of something spilled next to him. 

Jerry entered the bathroom, quietly closing the door and flipping the lightswitch. He looked in the mirror.

Jerry inhaled sharply and almost passed out again, supporting himself by holding onto the sink. The person staring back at him looked like something from that scary movie his dad had shown him. Blood covered his face, mostly concentrated around his nose, which was at a strange crooked angle. A black eye had started to form on his right eye, along with several other bruises on his face, torso, and arms. Jerry couldn’t do anything but stare. Was that really him?

Jerry finally snapped himself out of it. He went into the cupboard and got a washcloth, running some cold water over it. As he did this, he couldn’t help but remember that time he had fallen off his bike and skinned his knee. He cried as his mom took a wet washcloth and cleaned his scrapes. Tears ran down Jerry’s face as he wiped the blood off his body. 

No 9 year old should ever have to go through this.


End file.
